


Lost Chances (3 Years' Worth)

by xiaoyangdery



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band), NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Jung Yunho - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Content, dont ask me why i wrote this because i dont know, lee taeyong - Freeform, minor Kim Jaejoong, unhappy taeyong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaoyangdery/pseuds/xiaoyangdery
Summary: By the time Yunho was ready to hold on, Taeyong decides to let go.





	Lost Chances (3 Years' Worth)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first attempt at writing (something relatively) angst, and a poor one at that.
> 
> Yunho is 33 years old, and Taeyong is 25 years old.

* * *

His husband was late.

Again.

It shouldn't come as a surprise for Taeyong anymore. Three years into his marriage, and he's always eating dinner alone, just like tonight. But his husband had promised him—through a simple text message—that he will be eating at home that night, and that Taeyong should cook for two, instead of making a portion for one as he's accustomed to.

_But,_ Taeyong thought as he swirls the wine in his glass, _Yunho wouldn't be Yunho if  he kept his promises. Just like our wedding vows..._

10:57 PM, the clock read.

_Any minute now..._

True enough, he hears the familiar sound of engine, and it wasn't long before the door opens and in came his husband, necktie loosened and coat in hand.

Yunho seemed surprised to see him sitting on the couch, more so with a glass of wine. Nonetheless, he approached the younger, sat down beside him, leaned closer, and pressed his lips against Taeyong's forehead. "I'm sorry I'm late tonight, our—"

"'—meeting ran late and you cannot escape', I know." Taeyong finished his sentence for him. He hears the same sentence weekly, maybe even twice. Then again, it's not something he's not used to.

"I'm sorry," Yunho murmured through pursed lips.

"Yeah," Taeyong downed the remaining wine.

In their first year of marriage, Taeyong's reply used to be 'It's okay, I understand, you're busy' and he would fetch him a cold glass of water. During their second year, his answer to the standard sentence became 'It's fine'.

And on their third, he doesn't say those words anymore—because it's not okay. He doesn't understand. He knows Yunho is not always busy.

_It's not fine_

"There's food in the fridge, heat it up if you're hungry," Taeyong says, leaving him on the couch and seconds later, he hears the faint slam of their bedroom door.

—

_Taeyong is not him._

Three years. It has been three years since Jung Yunho married Lee Taeyong. And every single morning as he wakes up, he tells himself the same phrase over and over again.

_Get_ _a_   _grip, Jung Yunho. He's long gone from your life._

The space beside him in the bed is empty, and he takes a glance at the neatly stacked pillows and blanket, but he could faintly smell the scent of strawberries—Taeyong's favorite, evident on one side of the vanity lined with products of the said scent: from hand creams to lip balms to body lotion.

He leaves the comfort of the bed, and with noiseless steps, comes over to the kitchen. He watches idly as Taeyong moved with graceful steps as he cooks—the younger has a lithe body and a slender frame, being a dancer. Every pivot he does is precise, as though he was a ballerina doing pirouette.

Taeyong's different from _him,_ Yunho thinks. Because _he_ is as clumsy as a toddler learning how to walk and literally trips over nothing, and Taeyong...Taeyong is graceful.

"Taeyong," finally making his presence known, he smiles as he noticed the slight flinch the younger made. "Can you...make breakfast for me as well?"

"You're...eating breakfast here?" Taeyong asks, more to himself, but Yunho heard it nonetheless, and the smile slips off of his face, understanding the implication behind those words, which Taeyong didn't see as he focuses on the pan instead. "Just take a seat, I'll bring you your food. Scrambled eggs, lightly salted, right?"

"Yeah," Yunho replied. His steps were slow and unhurried, and when he finally takes a seat, his view is blocked by a divider wall, but he could still faintly hear the spatula scraping against the metal cookware.

It wasn't long before the younger placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, together with two pancakes and a mug of black coffee. Taeyong, on the other hand, has a stack of three pancakes drowned in syrup, a sunny side up, and a cup of tea which he could recognize as jasmine based on its smell.

The meal was quiet, save for the scraping of their utensils against the fine china; if Yunho were to be honest, he has no idea how to open up a conversation, which is kind of ironic as the other person happens to be his husband.

The older took a look at Taeyong, who ate without sparing him a glance. The younger had a child-like innocence as he ate, grinning as he cuts a piece of his pancake and dips them on the syrup gathered at the side. He ate fast, taking small sips of his tea in between big bites.

He took notice that the younger ate the white part of the egg first, wondering for a second if he does not like if or if he is allergic to the yolk, until Taeyong ate it last in one bite with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Can you come with me to the mall?" Yunhi blurts out suddenly.

Taeyong paused from putting the final bite of his food in his mouth before managing to give a small nod in lieu of words as his answer.

—

"I don't know why, but I...just had the urge to go furniture shopping with you," Yunho tells Taeyong. They were on their way to the mall, with him driving and Taeyong reading a novel. "But not furniture per se, I actually wanted to buy those small pillows—sofa cushions? Is that what they're called? I want red ones, isn't that your favorite color? I think they'll be good accent pieces to our living room, then I'm also buying some for my office. It hurts my shoulders and my neck when I sleep and rest my head on the armrest—oh, we're here."

Yunho was the one pushing the cart while Taeyong walked beside him. Their cart was full of cushions—red and black in color—together with a few wall frames and accents.

"I think these are good," Yunho told his husband. "What about you, aren't you getting anything?" At Taeyong's assurance, Yunho paid for his purchases.

 

—

"There's a newly opened seafood restaurant at the third floor," Yunho said excitedly. "Let's try it!"

"S-seafood?" there was dread in Taeyong's voice, which the older failed to notice.

"You love salmon, don't you? And I know you also love seafood chowder. From the reviews I've read, those two are to die for."

Whatever protest Taeyong was meant to say died in his throat, as Yunho pulled him to the escalators.

They were given a private seat at the back of the restaurant, and Yunho merely glanced at the menu before telling the maître d' their order—seafood chowder and smoked salmon with steamed vegetables for Taeyong, and clam chowder and grilled fish with a side of buttered corn for himself.

Yunho ate his food, but Taeyong only played with his, taking occasional bites of the steamed vegetables.

' _At least they're seasoned well and not bland,'_ Taeyong consoled himself, taking yet another small piece of cauliflower.

"Why aren't you eating?" Yunho questioned. He was nearly finished with his food, and only now did he notice thay majority of his husband's food remained untouched.

"I'm still full," was all that Taeyong said.

Yunho simply nodded and went back to eating, finishing Taeyong's salmon as well, immediately paying for their food afterwards.

—

It was past dinnertime by the time they got back home—Yunho insisted for them to drive around the city, stopping over at several cafés to try different pastries.

Taeyong was done taking a shower, clad in a loose shirt and thin pajama pants. He was sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed, hunched over a book. He was too engrossed in reading that he didn't hear the bathroom door opening, and was surprised as an arm wrapped around his waist.

He placed his book on the nightstand, taking note of the page number when he took notice of the familiar scent of Yunho's body wash as Yunho pulled him closer, burying his face into Taeyong's neck, pressing small kisses along the smooth expanse of the slope.

"Taeyong," the older whispers against his ear, voice sensual. "Can we?"

And Taeyong—Taeyong also missed his husband's touches on his skin, lips on his body, hips meeting against his own. He whispers a quiet,  _'Yes,'_ twisting his body and tilting his head to the side to give his husband better access to his neck.

And Yunho took the opportunity to swiftly discard Taeyong's shirt, the piece of clothing thrown to one side without a care. He slotted their mouths together, pushing his tongue past Taeyong's parted lips, tasting faintly of peppermint and the younger sucks on his tongue with a whimper, hands wandering over the broad planes of Yunho's chest and shoulders.

Yunho's hands caressed Taeyong's face,  gliding over to his jaw and down to his chest, flicking and pinching the hardened nubs and eliciting a soft whimper from the younger, pulling away from the kiss and taking the chance to catch his breath.

But the older continued with his ministrations, memorizing every part of Taeyong with his eyes, familiarizing himself with the taste of his body. He sucks at random spots, only with the intention of painting the younger red and purple until there was a whole galaxy in the other's torso.

His hand dips in Taeyong's pajama pants, and the warmth his palm emits was a perfect contrast the cool air of the spring night. He caressed Taeyong's body delicately, as though holding a porcelain doll, and the younger's moans and whimpers only ignited the fire within his core.

Yunho reaches for the small packet of lubricant, tearing it open with his teeth. He coats his fingers evenly, mouth capturing Taeyong's in another fervent kiss as he pushes a lone finger in. 

The first intrusion hurts, and Taeyong couldn't help the small whimper. Yunho moves his finger at a slow and steady pace, with no intention other than to stretch him.

Yunho took his time, for which Taeyong was grateful to. He slipped a second and third finger in, a minute at a time, gauging his husband for any sign of discomfort, and when Taeyong showed none he worked on pleasuring the younger instead.

The slight curl of his fingers has Taeyong grip his shoulders in a tight vice, fingernails digging deep and forning little crescents along the skin while whimper after whimper left his lips.

And before Taeyong knew it, the fingers were gone, only to be replaced by something much bigger. He almost forgot how well-endowed his husband is, but the way he feels everthing from the snap of Yunho hips is enough reminder.

Every thrust is precise, hitting him in the right places, and the small whimpers from earlier were replaced by him calling—chanting—Yunho's name in a plea to give him anything.

_To give him everything._

Yunho demanded eye contact, relishing in the pleasured face of his husband, who's only a few more moments from heaven. He cups Taeyong's jaw, letting his breath fan over Taeyong's lips, red and raw from biting. His thumb ghosted over the younger's Adam's apple, and the feather-like touches wsre completely different from the way he moved his hips.

Taeyong's beady eyes were teary and his throat feels dry, but Yunho knows what he desperately wants, thrusts turning more relentless, more frantic.

And Taeyong lets himself go, lets himself get lost in the blinding light of euphoria taking over his mind and body. He doesn't know whether he whispered or he shouted; albeit aware that it was Yunho's name that his lips uttered.

But contrary to Taeyong, whose senses are alert and heightened post-orgasm, Yunho immediately succumbed to sleep, calling aname in his delirious state.

"... _ae...ong..."_

Taeyong perked up, unsure whether the he heard wrong. Slowly, he leaned his face closer to Yunho's, until his ear was next to his husband's lips, readying himself for yet another heartbreak as  _his_ name slips off of Yunho's mouth, despite it being of the faintest whisper.

 

 

—

 

Yunho was never one to believe superstitions, which is why he didn't mind the black cat he passed by that morning, nor did he give any thought to the glass of water he accidentally dropped in the pantry in their office, even the cut on his hand from when he picked up the broken pieces. 

But him accidentally knocking his wedding photo off of his table and resulting to its glass frame shattering into a thousand pieces should have been an indication that something is wrong.

—

 Yunho doesn't understand how or why this happened. He honestly believed that everything is fine between him and Taeyong. He believes that for the past three years, they lived harmoniously as husbands.

They're like every other married couple—they go on dates, they go furniture shopping, they go to the mall, do groceries together. Yunho knows his favorite foods, and Taeyong also does. They have sex, like what other couples do. There's nothing wrong with them, at least that's what Yunho strongly believed in: there is nothing wrong that warrants Taeyong to do  _this._

Slowly, the tears formed at the corner of his eyes, falling one by one, noting that Taeyong was no different, with red rimmed eyes and a damp handkerchief in hand. Suddenly, the vast living room they were standing in felt suffocating, as though the walls were trapping him in, and the feeling was akin to the feeling of drowning.

He opens his mouth, trying to find the words to say, to no avail, and the silence was deafening.

"We're good together, aren't we?" Yunho finally says, trying his best to smile despite the steady trickle of his tears down his cheeks. "We're good together. You're good for me, Taeyong. I know it... so why..."

Yunho fell to his knees, grasping his husband's hand in his. He held on to the younger, repeatedly kissing the back of his palm in a silent plea when his words seem to fail.

But Taeyong was mum, despite shedding tears of his own. He removed his hand from Yunho's hold, cupping his husband's face instead. He took a deep breath before shaking his head, and the action only made the latter more desperate, hugging his waist instead.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, Taeyong. I'm changing, I promise I am, just... please... please give me another chance... please give me one last chance.. please, Taeyong..."

"Aren't you tired, Yunho?" Taeyong finally spoke, voice cracking as he did so. "Because I am. I really am...I don't want to hurt anymore..

_Yunho, don't_   _I deserve to be loved?"_

"But I love you..." Yunho whispered. "Please, just...give me another chance, Taeyong."

Taeyong chuckled, yet it was full of pain instead of humor, and his tears never stopped falling. "Another chance, Yunho? Are you hearing yourself right now? Another chance? You're asking for another chance?!"

Taeyong took a deep breath, harshly wiping his tears afterwards. "Three years. We've been married for three years, Yunho. I gave you your second, third, fourth and many more—uncountable—chances! Is three years not yet enough, Yunho?

"Every waking day, I tell myself, 'Maybe today will be different.' Only for you to tell me you're falling in love with me, and then call your ex-lover's name in your sleep. Only for you to whisper his name when we share the bed.

"So tell me Yunho, am I the one being selfish for doing this?"

Taeyong couldn't help it anymore—sobs racked his body, and big droplets of tears fell from his eyes to Yunho's face, mixing with Yunho's own.

It was _heartbreaking._

Taeyong takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm despite the pain and the heartbreak. He pulls Yunho to his feet, squeezing his hands tight, eye to eye. "Yunho...I appreciate you trying to love me, but it's about time you stop with this pretense. I don't think you truly do. Because my favorite color isn't red, it's green. Salmon's not my favorite fish. In fact, I don't like eating it at all. And no, seafood chowder's not my favorite either. I'm allergic to shellfish.

"I love you, Yunho, I really do," Taeyong whispered through his tears. "But I'm not sure if this is the right kind of love, or if it is the right time for us—"

"No, no, please!" Yunho pleaded yet again, tightening his hold on Taeyong's waist. "Please don't leave me..."

"—but maybe...just maybe, weeks or months, or even years from now, if the two of us are really meant to be, we'll be together..."

"Don't say that!" Yunho shouts, voice hoarse from crying. "Don't say things like that. He—Jaejoong, he used to say those things, and look where it lead us!"

"But Yunho," Taeyong smiles bitterly, "I'm _not_ Jaejoong. I was _never_ Jaejoong. I'm Jung Taeyong, your husband...

... _at least for a little more time."_

_How little is little?_ Yunho wants to ask. _How much is more?_

A brown envelope lay atop the small centre table, containing documents Yunho never thought he'd ever see in his life. The space above the name **TAEYONG LEE-JUNG** bears his husband's signature and seal, stamped in red ink, while the space above his name awaits his own.

 

_**Divorce papers.** _

 

And then Taeyong stood on his tiptoes, pressing his lips against his husband's for a final kiss, whispering the words Yunho wished he didn't hear.

"But for now, we have to go our separate ways. Please sign the papers, Yunho. We have to do this, for your sake and mine..."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> idk if it's angsty enough, or if i was able to capture the emotions as this is kinda done on a rush...and a whim. anw sometimes i accept prompts, hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/calamari520)  
> and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/maricalamari)
> 
>  
> 
> DO NOT PLAGIARIZE AND/OR REPOST ANYWHERE


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